Moving away from England, often arrogantly referred to as the ‘home of football’ despite it also being the hovel of international underachievement, I was concerned that I would be alienated from my favourite sport. I was worried it would be drowned out by the swishing and clicking noises of ice hockey and repeated shouts of ‘FOOTBALL!’ during NFL broadcasts.

That didn’t happen though. I found Opera Bob’s Public House, a bar which doubles up as the base for Toronto’s Manchester City supporters’ club. Toronto FC’s underachievement was interesting for a while too, until I got fed up with the wind that whips around the stadium from Lake Ontario, which is raw with cold and full of insects.

Then came Euro 2012. That’s when I realised that when it comes to international competition, Toronto is the best place to watch football.

It’s where I learned to wish misfortune on the Portuguese national team. I live in Little Portugal, and the way many of the locals celebrate wins by getting in their cars and beeping horns was initially charming, but now immensely irritating. When your latest short story is being punctuated by the continuous pipping outside it’s time to stop work.

Up the street is Little Italy, where I saw gli azzurri get stuffed by a relentless Spain in a packed supermarket car park. Some Spanish fans work in packs and will land in a different, unsuspecting bar each game. There are Brazilian areas, Korean, Croatian – name a country represented in this year’s World Cup and there is at least a bar, more likely a neighbourhood, dedicated to it. Something I like to take advantage of.

Therefore, after Manchester City were dumped out of the Champions’ League by Barcelona I needed some respite, some change of scenery; a place to overcome my grief. Greek Town.

Olympiakos were pitted against City’s arch rivals Manchester United, and in a bid to show our support for the Piraeus team three friends and I went to their official supporters’ club at the intersection of Pape and Danforth, the heart of Greek Town.

Left to right: Jason, myself, Esme, the Olympiakos Toronto club president, and Kael.

The bar was intimidatingly packed with Greek expatriates, most of whom sported that unimpressed frown that many men develop with age, and there was a huge ‘MEMBERS ONLY’ sign nailed above where you enter the bar. Instead, the four of us – Ecuadorian Esme, Jason from a German background, Vancouverite Kael from a Scottish background, and my English self – were applauded when we took off our jackets to unveil Manchester City shirts, and then made to feel like lost family members.

After donating a Manchester City scarf to their supporters’ club, four Olympiakos t-shirts and four bottles of beer were dumped on our table. Then the club president bought us a round. Then the owner. Then another owner. It turned out there were a few owners. The shots of Ouzo came out. Money had to be thrust into their hands at the end as they refused to take it.

There are so many bars and neighbourhoods in Toronto dominated by different nationalities, but in each one you can count on a warm greeting. So unless you’re going to Brazil this summer, where is there a better place to watch the World Cup?

Back home, supporting a football team outside the area that you or your parents are from is a stigma.

When the person declares their allegiance to a club that is over a forty-minute drive away it is often followed by an excuse - with some as inexplicable as their grandfather once accidentally catching a train there. It is a trait usually reserved for people who aren’t actually passionate about the sport – or for Manchester United fans.

In Toronto, there is an ardent following of the Maple Leafs, their perpetually disappointing ice hockey outfit. Their other teams, such as baseball’s Blue Jays and basketball’s Raptors, have also been unsuccessful in my thirty-three months here, and I’m assured by locals that it’s been much longer still. It doesn’t matter for many though, as Torontonians seem to support teams from all over the continent.